


Close Quarters

by hey_itsjoanna (jth30)



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Foot Fetish, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jth30/pseuds/hey_itsjoanna
Summary: Another Elorcan moment we could have had in EoS. Set during Elide and Lorcan's time with the carnival.
Relationships: Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

Elide tried to mask the shake in her hands as she took the straight razor Lorcan was handing her. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she peered up at him through her long lashes, her dark brown eyes brimming with uncertainty. “What… what do you want me to do?”

In answer, Lorcan reached for the back of his collar and shed his shirt leaving it on the edge of the cot as he unceremoniously plunked himself down. “You need to shave me.”

Her throat bobbed again and he couldn’t drag his eyes from the column of her neck as he heard her pulse hammering in his fae ears.

“Why?” she choked out.

“The oils… for putting on a show… They catch better on smooth skin.”

Her mouth formed a soundless O and she nodded slowly, approaching with tentative steps.

“What do I do?”

“Just drag the razor across. I would have done it myself, only that I couldn’t find a mirror anywhere around this shithole.”

Elide fought the urge to flinch as he cussed, she’d heard worse in Morath yet somehow everything sound dirtier coming out of his mouth. She inspected the sharp edge of the razor carefully. “Surely I’ll cut you if the…” she distractedly dragged her eyes across his chest, “area… isn’t slippery enough.” She’d seen women do this to their legs, once upon a time – a memory from a different time, when she was a Lord’s daughter in Perranth.

His onyx eyes studied her face as if he was contemplating whether asking more of her was worth the trouble, but he finally nodded towards the washbowl. “You can bring that over and use the soap.”

She left the razor on the bed beside him and went to pick up the bowl taking careful steps, trying not to spill the water. She gingerly set it beside him too and dipped the soap in before working it with her hands. She knew she should have let him do this himself, but somehow the thought of him dragging his own broad hands over his own chest set her blood coursing in ways she couldn’t handle. Why she thought touching him would make things easier she didn’t know.

When after a moment she carelessly left the wet soap on the cot and let her lathery hands reach for his chest. They hovered mere inches from him as she willed herself to look at his face for permission. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod and as she sucked in a breath, she let her hands make contact with his chest. Then slowly she worked them around in circles covering his tan skin with suds.

“That’s enough,” he said and sounded almost pained.

She instantly pulled back and he hissed a breath through clenched teeth. She reached for the razor again and, like before, she kept it inches from his chest until he gave her the go-ahead. This time he reached for her hand, closing his own around it and correcting the angle.

He let go and braced his hands behind him, pushing out his chest so she could see what she was doing it seemed to catch her off guard but she tried to school her features into an expression that showed she knew what she was doing, her lips now set in a hard line of concentration.

She made contact with his chest and dragged the blade along for a few inches leaving a trail of smooth skin in its passage. Then she pulled back and looked to him for reassurance. He looked down at her handiwork and nodded in approval, so she carried on. She worked in silence, cleaning the blade as she went on a threadbare towel and she had but one stroke left when some man’s loud voice boomed outside the tent, surely another brawl between the performers.

But she flinched, her concentration broken and she nicked his skin. Her eyes that fleeted towards the sound were now back to the thin trickle of blood that was making its way down his chest. Lorcan didn’t flinch; entirely unfazed by the tiny cut but when he saw the guilt in her face he simply wiped the blood away with his finger.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Just finish it.”

She complied, making that last drag along his skin, leaving it smooth and tan. He was ready, ready to turn into a performer, paraded and ogled like an animal. All for her sake, because she wanted to get to her Queen. Momentary guilt raked through her, but she pushed it down – she’d offered him things in return too. He made to get up but she just put a hand on his shoulder keeping him in place.

He looked like he caught the shift in her mood as his eyes shot to hers in a silent question, but all she did was dip the cloth in the bowl and wash away any remaining traces of soap. When she was done she took a step her gaze following along his muscled torso until it lifted up to his face, where she was mortified to discover he was watching her, his head slightly cocked to one side.

“I’ll let you get dressed,” she mumbled and took the water bowl to return it to the table in the corner of the tent. This time her hands shook a little, and she spilled some of it on the front of her dress. But she didn’t fuss, she just stayed with her back turned to him, taking him her time to wring out the wet cloth and lay it out to dry.

When she turned it was to her relief that she found him dressed again, but the shirt clung to his wet chest and she just couldn’t help the heat that spread across her cheeks now. As if touching him before, the intimate act of running her soapy hands down his chest had just dawned on her.

He surely sensed her discomfort, because he just picked up the razor and said “I better go give this back or Nick will have my ass,” and with that he left the tent. Left her to brace her hands and lean back against the rickety table, trying to steady her breathing again.


	2. Chapter 2

Marion’s jaw must have hurt by how hard she was clenching it so her teeth wouldn’t chatter as she shivered nearly uncontrollably, Lorcan tried to imagine what it was like to be mortal in these nearly freezing temperatures, perhaps like a thousand needles stabbing into her skin. The tent was too cold, the blankets too thin, the wind too icy.

He hesitated at the entrance of the tent, eyeing her pitiful figure, she’d made herself so small curling into the foetal position in the hopes of warming herself up, something in his black heart cracked. It was perhaps that he’d once albeit centuries ago been in the same position, a small, shivering child growing up alone in the back alleys of Doranelle.

He was standing over her in two strides, his hulking frame hovering over her. She was so cold that there was no way she wasn’t awake so his actions were deliberately slow, giving her ample time to push him away or refuse what little he could offer her.

“Marion, make some room.”

She only turned her face towards him, her eyes wide. He almost backed off if it wasn’t for the fact that her lips were nearly blue. So he knelt beside her, on the frozen, hard ground.

“A body is a body, remember?” he threw her own words back at her.

Something like anger flashed in her dark eyes, but she didn’t have the strength to argue it seemed. Thank gods for that. Moments later she scooted over, not that she could go far in this narrow creaking cot that Lorcan wouldn’t bet his life that it could take both their weights.

He silently cursed himself for deciding to put himself through this; he hadn’t bedded a woman in what now felt like centuries. And this couldn’t possibly end well. But he lay down close to her balancing his body so he wasn’t touching her, yet. But if he were to help her, he’d have to touch her, pull her close so that his demi-fae body, that knew nothing of cold or heat would shield her, pass some of the precious warmth to her.

The hardest part was reaching for her, her small frame made him want to always protect her even when she was being insufferable, her womanly curves called to him to do other things. He set his mouth into a hard line as he gripped her waist, waiting again, for her to shake him off, but she didn’t; the only sign that she was awake and felt him was that her teeth stop clenching and grinding together. Another small mercy, because the awful sound of it was driving him insane.

But she was still shaking, her shoulders convulsing with the effort to stand still. He pulled her towards him, allowing his body to meld around hers. It was hard not to consider how perfectly she fit against him, as if she were made for him, forged from whatever dark rock his own fate had been carved on. He rested his chin against the crown of her head, breathing in her scent, so human and fragile and yet somehow _other._ He felt her slowly go still as heat spread from his body to hers, warming up her bones tired, aching bones.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated the tags for this chapter bc it went a tad filthier than I was expecting but what can I say, Elide was hiding a kinkier side. It's always the quiet ones, am I right?

_Elide was cuffed again, but her shackles were not of steel, they didn’t make her soft skin chafe and ache, they were rather a comfortable caress as they held her tied to a wooden plank just barely large enough to fit her small frame. She opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings as she realized that she was in the middle of the performers stage, that_ she _was the entertainment. But the seats were empty, no spectators here for the show. So she tugged against the leather restraints, trying to break free._

_And that’s when she saw him, emerging from the shadows where he’d been concealed as if he were part of them. His bare upper body glimmering as it caught the faint light, his chest and back shining_ _and as he neared. She could smell it on him – the oil he used to make those corded muscles glisten._

_He slowly stalked toward her where she was tied against that plank, but she wasn’t fighting to break free anymore. She was dead still and holding in a breath as he made for her with the lethal grace of a natural-born predator, a dangerous glint in his onyx eyes. She dared not look anywhere else though, and so she held his gaze as he stood inches from her, looming over her so she had to tip her chin back to face him. He leaned down to meet her gaze, their foreheads almost touching and they were sharing a breath. She could drown herself in the abyss of his eyes, she felt like she was soaring through the skies again, sharp wind on her face. And then as he lowered his lashes, dropping his eyes to the hollow of her throat when she swallowed hard. He licked his lips and Elide’s own mouth went dry as she caught the blade that glinted in his hand. He moved it slowly, ghosting over her collarbones and then dipping down between the peaks of her breasts, tugging slightly at the fabric of her tunic, ripping the thin material so that he exposed a bit more of her._

_Her breath hitched as he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Do you trust me, Elide?” It didn’t matter that he didn’t know her name, that she’d never heard it in his lips before, here she was free to be whoever she wanted to be, no matter how unhinged or depraved. She only nodded in return and a small, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He turned on his heels and walked away from her. Ten paces… fifteen… He stopped at twenty. She didn’t want to doubt him, he never missed, she knew it in her bones that he was most likely the greatest warrior to ever walk this earth, but her breath hitched again as he pulled his arm back preparing for the first throw of his knife._

_She went to close her eyes, but his voice rough and low snapped her out of it._

_“Look at me,” he ordered._

_So she did. Her eyes keeping his as the constant thud of blades hitting wood rained around her. But she didn’t flinch; she didn’t cry out, she just watched his perfect form as he threw._

_And when one last knife remained in his hand, he stormed back towards her stopping when their bodies were almost touching. . She pulled on the leather cuffs wanting to run her fingers along the ridges of his muscled abdomen. She whined and struggled again, and a smile tugged on his lips, amusement or excitement flashing in those eyes that were usually so cold._

_She wanted to touch him, wanted it with every power of her being. But she stayed there, writhing against the wood as his eyes raked through her, up and down her body. And then the unthinkable – the mighty warrior, went to his knees before her. Her heart beat like thunder in her ears, she thought she might find at the sight of him, watching her with quiet reverence as if she were a sight to behold._

_A moment passed and he leaned to cut off the leather restraints that gripped her ankles to the wood. Her leg wasn’t mangled in the dream, she wasn’t in pain, she was only floating with desire. He took the foot the on that usually caused her the trouble and bear as it was he stuck it in his mouth, sucking on her toes in ways that elicited sounds she’d never made before in her life, but she would for him._

_He remained kneeling when he run his hands up her legs and gripped her waist hitching his thumbs on the waist of her pants. His eyes searched her face, and she gave another nod. So Lorcan pulled them down taking her undergarments with them too. She was exposed to him from the waist down, clad in nothing but her blouse now._

_“Elide,” he said again, this time a low growl. It called to her, to something deep and primal within her, a part of her she didn’t even know existed, a part that only answered to him. Her core was heavy and aching, the burn rising all the way to her chest that heaved with desire._

_He tugged her legs apart, and a moan escaped her lips as the cold breeze touched_ that _part of her. His eyes glazed, as he looked at her_ there, _his nostrils flaring as he drunk in her scent. He kissed her thighs, one and then the other up and then higher until he reached that point between her legs. And the cold she’d been feeling was replaced by his hot breath, as his lips went licked at her entrance. Her hands struggled against the restraints once more, wanting to touch him to tangle her fingers in his hair, but he didn’t set her free. Instead he set a gruelling pace as his tongue worked her core, dipping inside of her and his teeth gently nipping at her sensitive skin. She was moaning freely now, every new movement setting her body alight in a new way._

_His mouth never breaking contact, he reached a hand between her breasts where he’d already tore at her tunic and dragged it down, ripping the garment apart so it exposed all of her. But he didn’t even stop to look, he just kept working her, his ministrations edging her closer and closer to some high she’d never experienced before. He palmed her breasts and pinched at her hardened nipples and that’s when her knees buckled as she screamed her release, her knees buckling as she let go completely._

_So he stood to his full height again, towering over her, and he gripped her thighs, wrapping her now trembling legs around his waist. But with her arms tied up, the angle was awkward and as if he knew he held his grip on her legs with one hand while cutting off the restraints with the knife he’d looped in his belt._

_As soon as they were free her hands fisted on his hair, manically grabbing at him, looping around his neck and pulling him closer, she wanted to meld into his skin if she could._

_“Lorcan,” she whispered._


	4. Chapter 4

“Lorcan.” She breathed in her sleep.

His name on her lips had him reaching for whatever ways he had developed to leash his self-control over the centuries of his miserable existence. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but when she arched into his chest and ground her hips against him all the blood drained from his head and went straight to his cock.

“Lorcan.” She said his name again, this time with a moan that his body was all too eagerly responding to. If she woke up and found them like this, he’d confirm to her that he was indeed a monster, that she was right to fear him.

He tried to calm himself, to think of other thoughts, but she was still in the throes of the dream, smaller breathy whines now escaping her lips. He thought to wake her, desperately thought this may prove some sort of solution, but he couldn’t, not without her finding him very hard against her backside.

He loosed a breath he didn’t know he was holding and closed his eyes, resolved to let this pass. She’d finish herself off one way or another, and she’d never have to know he saw her, heard her, _felt_ her like this.

When she lifted her hand and run it along his arm, he shivered. He pulled back as far as he could and looked at her face, thick lashes still fanned over pale cheeks – she was still asleep. A part of him had hoped she’d woken, that emboldened by the dream she’d stake her claim on him.

Lorcan almost laughed at himself for losing his cool because this small, inexperienced girl run her hand across his skin. But he had other, _growing_ problems to worry about. It wouldn’t be worth risking it all for a night with her, he’d deliver her to her Queen and be on his not-so-merry way back to Morath, back to Maeve. How long had it been since Lorcan had eyed a female, lest of all a human, that he couldn’t have? What was it about her that made him stop himself short? _Something in her quiet dignity_ he reasoned with himself.

Another strangled cry, this time louder, and it sounded like a butchered version of his name _again,_ left her lips as her eyes flung open. He froze as she took in her surroundings, and bit his tongue when her dark eyes roamed around the tent until they finally rested on him. She peered over her shoulder at his face, frozen too in her place.

He waited for her to push him away, tell him to leave, be horrified at the disgusting evidence of his desire as their bodies pressed together in the small cot that barely fit one person. But she didn’t, she only twisted around so her head was against his chest. She was still out of breath, he noticed, her cheeks slowly flushing as she caught on to whatever remnants of the dream she was likely remembering.

It was Lorcan’s demi-fae senses that alerted him to the change in her heart beat, the heat that pooled between her legs, but he needed none of that as he saw desire darken her gaze.

“Lorcan,” she said again and this time he felt it deep in his bones. It wasn’t passion driving her now; it wasn’t her body dealing with its natural cycle of needs. She saw him, and wanted him.

He lifted a hand to her face, pushing back those strands of silky black hair and she leaned into her touch. He’d had lovers who cringed at his rough, calloused fingers caressing their pretty face, but she put a hand on top of his and held it there, closing her eyes. And then she shifted closer, her body melding into his – soft curves into hard, honed muscle.

His focus honed into her hitched breath, those rosy lips that were slightly parted for him to claim already. He leaned into them, tasting a pain and sorrow that nearly matched his own, just when all hell broke loose. Screaming and burst of fire erupting from far enough away that he gave himself a moment as he leapt out of bed to put his boots on.


End file.
